


Hungry like the wolf

by unityManipulator



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rough Sex, Spit As Lube, also yes my headcanon is that nines can do lvl 1 fortitude, this was an excuse entirely to let nines get rawed by a big werewolf :), which is BAD don't DO it if you can avoid it even nines is like ''oh this isn't a good lube'' lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29346714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unityManipulator/pseuds/unityManipulator
Summary: A blood hunt has been called. Nines finds a place to hide.Hiding in werewolf territory has its downsides. (upsides?)
Relationships: Nines Rodriguez/unnamed werewolf
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Hungry like the wolf

**Author's Note:**

> no hermitcraft fics today i wanted to write vtm! sorry y'all, enjoy the werewolf rawing instead :p

Breaking into the Griffith observatory had been _easy._

Even if Nines _hadn’t_ been carrying his lockpick in the bag he’d grabbed on the way out of his haven, Potence would have given him the strength to snap the knob clean off and then some. He had wandered through a couple of the rooms, glancing idly over the framed diagrams mounted on the walls and wishing he’d taken the time to feed earlier (blood hunt be damned) before turning a corner and freezing.

The corner of the room he’d just walked into was occupied by a mass of fur that sent his Beast on edge in a heartbeat.

_Lycan._

Even with the way it was curled against itself, facing away from him, its sheer _size_ left it unmistakable. Its breath was heavy and its fur matted, a deep brown that could have been dark with fresh blood for all Nines knew, and _every_ muscle in his undead body was _screaming_ for him to use his half-depleted reserves of vitae on Celerity and _get the fuck out of there._

He shifted his weight, preparing to call on his discipline, and that was the moment his ankle let out a crack so loud it shook every other thought from his mind.

The werewolf’s head snapped up, a snarl torn from its throat, and Nines _ran._

Half-opened doors were burst through and forgotten, a path that had been a leisurely stroll turned to a sprint, any semblance of rational thought forgotten as his Beast swelled in his chest and led him out the observatory’s exterior door. Nines still had enough presence of mind to slam it shut, to put _anything_ between him and the Lycan before turning and scanning his options.

 _There,_ maybe thirty feet away. A tree with a branch low enough for him to grab, that looked like it could support his weight as he jumped to a nearby taller one, then- well, Nines wasn’t quite sure what then.

_First a blood hunt, now a fucking wolf._

His next thought was the realization that 200 pounds of fur and muscle were ripping through the door’s hinges like tissue and throwing itself at him before he could blink, could dodge, could do _anything_ but bring his forearms up instinctively to protect his throat.

Nines had never _actually_ been hit by a freight train, but a lunging werewolf _had_ to be a close runner-up for sheer force alone. It sent him sprawling across the gravel path of the park, rocks digging into his skin where his shirt had ridden up, claws against his forearms and tearing great gashes as he forced the wolf’s paw back. He scrambled back the second its weight was off him, his heels gouging furrows into the path until his palms met grass and he could fumble for his pistol on sheer instinct.

Instincts that failed him when the Lycan took another swipe and batted the gun from his now-bloody hand and into the darkness.

It roared again, breath hot against Nines’ face as his Beast _howled_ in response and a frenzy tore at the edges of his consciousness.

Fingers find an empty clip where a grenade should have been (stupid, _stupid!)_ and Nines is left with his fists and the knowledge that the odds were so far from being on _him_ that he would have gladly taken the blood hunt. At least then he might have had a _chance._

At least he could go down fighting.

Potence flares down his forearms, leaving his fingers thrumming with vitae as he catches the Lycan’s jaws in his palms. He can _feel_ its saliva leaking out through its clenched teeth, the barely-restrained urge to rip him in two vibrating against his skin as it _snarls,_ and he braces his feet and twists to throw it off of him and scrambles to his feet.

When it rolls against the gravel, shaking its head as it lurches back into a crouch, Nines realizes two things.

One, by its size and clumsiness fighting, this werewolf was _young._

And two, by the glimpse of a swollen cock head poking out of its sheath, it was in _heat._

Nines lets a curse hiss past his fangs as it leaps again, claws swiping at his abdomen as his brain switches into overdrive.

Pro: _(Dodge, jump back)_ It was inexperienced in a fight.

Con: _(Lunge, punch at the ear)_ It was probably territorial as hell before, _well-_

Pro: _(Miss, pivot)_ It was _clearly_ more than a little distracted by its heat, its swings brutally powerful but most of them going wide.

Con: _(Push its paw down, another punch at its snout)_ Nines was going to run out of vitae before the wolf ran out of stamina.

Pro, maybe: _(Hot breath against his knuckles)_ He had _an_ idea.

Con, definitely: _(A yelp of pain, a stumbled step back)_ If he survived it and the rest of the Anarchs heard, he would _never_ live it down.

Pro, sort of: If he _did_ get mauled, at least nobody would know the particular details.

“…Can’t _believe_ I’m about to try this.”

When he rolls over onto his hands and knees, his jaw already tense and expecting the burn of claws across his spine, the crunch of paws against gravel leaves him flinching. The Lycan sniffs the air heavily, once, twice, before pawing at Nines’ body. The claws were still _there,_ still firm and razor-sharp, but the fact that his vitae wasn’t currently spilling out over the observatory lawn was progress enough for Nines.

Progress that left his stomach dropping as he felt the Lycan’s paw curl and lines of burning sharpness bloomed against the skin of his ass.

He hissed in reflex, air through his fangs as his fingers tensed against the grass, expecting jaws against his neck any moment before his Beast caught up to his mind. The wolf had scratched him, yes, but it was superficial, already healed against the cool night air through the fresh tears in his jeans as it pawed at him again. “Shit, at least lemme get them off, I liked these-”

A snarl is the response he gets to lifting his hand, hot breath against his scalp until he returns to all fours and the Lycan seems to calm down. It makes quick work of the denim, leaving it hanging in tatters off Nines’ thighs to expose his ass to the night.

A wave of vitae rushes unbidden to Nines’ cheeks as the reality of his situation sinks in. He was bent over, ass up, not even _undressed,_ waiting for a Lycan to fuck him and hopefully not tear him apart afterwards. _Pretty sure it’s too late to take my chances with the Cammies._

The wolf’s paw finds its way over his shoulder, fur tickling against Nines’ ear, and he can’t help compare its size to his own hand. _Fuck._ He can feel a thick heat against the cleft of his ass, swollen with need as the wolf clumsily thrusts forward.

It misses its mark, sliding upwards with its own firmness and pressing what Nines is assuming is its entire length across the base of his tailbone. _Fuck,_ he was in _so_ far over his head. Another huff of breath against his ear as it thrusts again, misses again, and Nines lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had taken.

“Look, hey,” he starts, and the wolf is distracted enough by its own need that he can bring a pair of fingers to his mouth and lave a thick tongueful of spit over them. Not a _great_ lube, but better than the alternative of trying to take what he’s _sure_ is seven inches of werewolf cock dry. “At least let me do this first, shit.” Thankfully it pauses, frustrated enough with trying to line itself up with his hole that Nines can reach between his legs and press into himself with a tight hiss. Two fingers right off the bat was a stretch that danced on the edge of painful, but considering what he feels pressing along the back of his thigh, he fucking _needs_ it. He brings his hand forward again, lets more spit fall past his lips, scissoring himself open as he tries to remember _any_ disciplines that he could use to make this easier.

His thoughts drift back to a late night with Skelter, when the Gangrel had insisted he at least _try_ to look into a defensive discipline like Fortitude, hours of practice that had spilled into the first moments of dawn until he could strengthen himself enough that the younger man had nodded proudly.

Bringing his fingers to his mouth one last time leaves Nines rallying his steadily-depleting supply of vitae, letting it swell through his muscles in preparation until he feels a cold nose at the junction between his neck and shoulder. It was better than nothing.

His fingers find the head of the Lycan’s cock, guide it to press against his hole.

Its claws meet his hip, a single lap of its tongue on the exposed skin over his collar his warning before it starts to move.

 _Fuck,_ Nines thinks. _Fuck, fuck,_ “fuck!”

It _burns,_ his admittedly-shoddy prepwork and Fortitude be damned. The curve of the head gives way, _barely,_ to the first inch, thick enough that Nines knows he should have gone for three fingers even as his nails dig into the observatory’s well-kept lawn. Every nerve in his body is screaming for him to run, consequences be damned, being mauled would probably be quicker than this, but the Lycan’s paw is firm against his skin to hold him steady and Nines knows if he tried to run _now_ he’d only manage to hurt himself worse.

 _If I get out of this alive,_ he manages to think, _I’m never saying a damn thing about Lacroix’s bedroom behavior again._

The Lycan’s movement pauses, fur tickling the junction of Nines’ ass and thigh, and he realizes bluntly that even though seven inches had been an underestimation it was the _width_ that would be the final death of him. He can feel every pulse of its _heartbeat,_ his muscles stretched so taut around its cock that he’s sure it must be _too_ tight, that the Lycan would pull out any second, give him more time to stretch, he wasn’t _ready._

They sit there, achingly still, Nines not daring to _breathe_ in case it set the Lycan off, so painfully full and his vitae burning from the heat radiating from _inside_ him.

When the Lycan lets out a breath, its chest contracting away from Nines’ back, that tiny shift is enough for him to realize that his cock is pressing against the still-intact zipper of his jeans.

His forearms are _trembling,_ he realizes. His teeth are gritted, that _damn_ first wave of vitae still coloring his cheeks even as what he _swears_ is the last drops he _has_ fills his cock, his chest heaving out of reflex to supply a heartbeat he doesn’t have, and _that’s_ the moment the Lycan chooses to start pulling out.

Every nerve in Nines’ body contracts, screaming with every _millimeter_ of Lycan cock that slips out of him as he fights back his Beast’s urge to pull off quickly, to _run._ He settles for tearing up the fistful of grass he’s been gripping, blunted nails digging into the dirt beneath it as air escapes his lungs in a wordless whine.

He can feel the swell of its cock head moving in him, so _close_ to pulling out, but he can’t bring himself to summon the energy to move the last inch.

As if it knew what he was thinking, the Lycan presses its hips forward again. This time Nines _does_ make a noise, a moan into the still November air that he barely registers with his own ears, his awareness reduced to the tightness of his ass and the Lycan’s furry forearm pressed against his temple. His mouth has fallen open, fangs bared in a hiss as he’s worked over by the Lycan, its hips finding a rocking rhythm that pushes a tiny sound from his throat every time it sheaths itself in him fully. The ache is duller now, dull enough that Nines finds himself noticing other things like the grit under his fingernails and the way the Lycan’s breath ghosts over his scalp.

Not to mention the way that, if he shifts his hips _just_ so, he can grind his cock against the softness of the inside of his jeans.

 _That_ drags a gasp from his lips, his muscles tightening reflexively as the Lycan happens to thrust again, and Nines swears he sees stars behind his eyelids. “Ohh, fuck-” He can feel wetness against the fabric, knows his cock is leaking now that he’s adjusted to the _perfect_ stretch of taking the Lycan, and he gets another thrust in response. “More…”

With that word, the dam of the Lycan’s self-control breaks.

It _surges_ forward, the tip of its cock hitting _something_ in Nines that wrings a broken moan from him. It snaps forward eagerly, Nines’ eyes flying open as claws tighten on his hip and leave tiny pinpricks that remain dry. His vitae sings in his cock, burning in his muscles as his last hold on Fortitude falls away. He’s _so_ full, so goddamn _full,_ the wet _schlick_ of the Lycan’s movements filling his ears and pounding into him in time with that last phantom feeling of the wolf’s pulse.

Nines _screams_ as he comes.

Cum spurts from his cock, soaking into the denim as he’s brought to completion _untouched,_ the Lycan’s movement constant as it chases its own high regardless of the way Nines is tensing vicelike around its dick. He’s sure he blacks out, drifting on the high of his orgasm and the feeling of his ass being fucked, and when he manages to try and collect himself he feels grass on his cheek.

He’s slumped forward, his arms having given out at some point during the fucking he’s receiving, and the new angle leaves his nose aching and his chest pressed into the dirt by a heavy paw as the Lycan’s dick manages to get even _deeper_ somehow. His head is spinning, each thrust rubbing a grass stain deeper into the white of his undershirt and dragging against already overstimulated nerves. When he licks his lips Nines realizes he’s genuinely been _drooling,_ his mouth hanging open and spit dripping down the side of his face and into the grass.

“Fuuuck,” he moans, his spent cock twitching against the mess he’s made of his ruined jeans. If the Lycan has noticed his return to consciousness it doesn’t react, mindlessly rutting into Nines with a cock that he _swears_ feels even _bigger_ during the few moments it’s inside him. “’m gonna… cum again…”

Hips _slam_ into his at that, and no, he _definitely_ hadn’t been imagining that, the base of the Lycan’s cock was swollen even harder against his ruined hole. Claws dig into the soil, tearing deep furrows into the lawn from the Lycan’s back paws as the hand leaves his shoulder blade and grabs at his other hip, and oh _God_ its knot was _big._

The Lycan _snarls,_ wrenching Nines backwards once, twice, before pressing against him so roughly the Brujah feels vitae he swears he couldn’t spare prickling at his eyes.

An aching, _agonizing_ second, and Nines’ ass stretches the last millimeter the Lycan needs to knot him.

His body is shaking uncontrollably, the Lycan’s fur uncharacteristically soft against his skin, its thrusts short and fast and urgent into him until it pulls him back and stills. Its cock pulses, cum spilling into Nines and seeping to fill places in his body he didn’t know he _had,_ hot and thick and tipping him over the edge of another weak spurt of cum into his jeans as unconsciousness claims him.

When Nines’ eyes crack open he’s met with a view of the Griffith Park observatory lobby. His back _aches_ from his position, curled and asleep on a metal bench, and he feels at _least_ four bones pop when he sits up. He can feel a fresh night thrumming around him, thirst pricking at his throat and leaving him standing slowly to grab his backpack and rummage through for the blood packs.

His jeans _crackle_ when he stands, stiff with cum in the front and shredded in the back, and as the memories of the previous night come flooding back Nines lets a quiet curse fall into the quiet of the observatory.

“Shit, I’m gonna miss these pants.” 

**Author's Note:**

> everyone else in the chat this was proposed in: give nines a werewolf bf!!  
> me, immediately knowing where i wanted to take this: or, hear me out, rough sex 
> 
> god imagine the groundskeeper at the observatory "hey what the fuck happened HERE" when he finds all the torn up lawn  
> but also imagine nines doing the cell phone call of shame "jack i need you to not ask questions. please bring me a new pair of jeans"


End file.
